In your dreams you’ve been to Reading. Gentle non-tropical rain steeps buildings into greyness. The bright neon sun compensates by shining all night long and a .visit to the Top Rank means that those of an adventurous spirit can dance until dawn to their favourite sounds. You can really call it paradise. This is a place of magic and mystery. Why, even the guide for the night turned out to be the affable Johnny Waller of Sounds. Together we bargained with the kindly, though exasperated, village-elder at the door and bade him take a message to the band. Thus informed of paupers at the door, the reply came back that "If they can't get in they’ll review the gig anyway", an implication that I resent.

So, with romance in the air, you cough up your last pennies and become a Thoroughly Impoverished Old Hector, It is then of no great solace to endure the feeble pleasantries of the Toyah manager who lets drop the reason for our deportation from this free state. First night of tour, NO PRESS WANTED.

Oh come friendly bombs and fall on Reading. A cold-blooded reason and a shirkers excuse. You stand by your performances and inevitably, after alt this crap, this one turned out to be the best Toyah gig I've seen for nearly two years. This was nothing more than a short addition to the summer tour. No new material was aired, only ‘Run Wild, Run Free’ being played for the first time, and so we enjoyed a boisterous repeat. The one main bonus was the guitar playing of Joel Bogen who finally managed to emerge among the hearty keyboards and rackety drums. The man slashed his way through spirited versions of  ‘Brave New World’ and ‘Angel And Me’ and he made ‘We Are’ the highlight of the evening.

You know-how it goes…singing's great bass is all there, keyboards go tinkley tinkle too and the drummer does his job. Everything, from ‘Warrior Rock’ to ‘Thunder In The Mountains’ and that obvious encore ‘Ieya' were never less than magnificent.

Apart from the shite-infested start it was a great evening. Mind you, I still fail to . understand how these people, generally described as normal, can stand a few feet in front of the band and scream, “Toooyaaaahhhhhh!” at the top of their voices. Why do they do this? Is breakfast treated in same way? “Toooooooooassssttt!!!” Who knows? No earthly explanation. 

The Reading air, as the brochures proclaim, was sharp and bracing. With aching, saturated feet and empty pockets the journey back was the most charming of endings to a short winter break.

Wish you were here?

Mick Mercer
Melody Maker 
December 1982